I see the child plunge into the swift streamnear the river bank where I am standing.  It swims beautiful butterfly strokes and  free strokes. The river carries in its imagesmy recollections of the river from the citywhich I was many times familiar with duringmy child hood. Barges, and ferries loadedwith hucksters, office workers, soldiers, students,factory…

I beat him endlessly, the man whoonce expressed his sexual interestsin my body when I was nine, andcontinued to do it steadily. He followedme many times, and sneaked into my earssome words uncomfortable to hear.He was half-awaked and half-dreaming,lunatic man whose insanity many ofmy relatives had mentioned of. But then,I became careless toward his actions…